No Tears
by TricksterWins
Summary: "No tears in your eyes, and no fear they can see." AU. Picks up just before the expedition, and afterwards ignores canon from then on out. Slash, male OC, adult themes planned. Warnings for violence, language, sexual themes and an evil Hawke.
1. Chapter 1

Ghost wasn't sure how he'd made his way to the place called after a hanging man. He'd followed the scent of magic to the city itself, after he'd crossed the sea. But once within the walls, navigation was difficult. He stayed away from well-dressed people, he always chose the path downhill, and above all lowered his head and ducked around corners whenever he spotted a templar. Templars. The only familiar sights around, and still the most frightening.

There were none inside of the Hanged Man, however. At least not tonight. He moved as unobtrusively as he could through the loud and crowded room, found a warm place near a wall and took a few moments to find his bearings. He watched the human mass with wide, dark eyes and did his best to shiver the chill from his bones. When he had enough feeling in his fingers again, he slipped one hand into the pouch in his sleeve and counted out his few remaining coppers. He'd stolen them, of course, and eventually he would end up stealing more. But for now, he disliked the idea of using his magic to conceal himself in a place so full of templars, being so recently arrived, and he was uncertain of his skill without it.

He made his way to an opening at the bar by a laughing dark-haired woman. He gripped his coins tightly and waited with his eyes down for the tavern keeper to take notice of him. A futile occupation, and some chagrined part of him knew it. So many humans shouting for his attention, waving their cups and jingling their considerably larger amounts of coin. Ghost was starting to despair, when the woman beside him raised her voice, breaking through the cacophony with ease.

"Tits! Sex! Brothels!" The whole room falling silent would have been a miracle, but the people closest, including the man behind the bar, looked her way. "Got your attention? Love it. Now this boy needs to put some food in his face before his bones start showing bones."

Surprised, Ghost timidly offered his coppers forward. He saw the strange glance that passed between the woman and the tavern keeper, but he missed the extra coins deftly exchanged and so did not comprehend the glance's meaning. He didn't have time to think about it though; all questions fled his mind when the largest meal he'd ever been offered was placed before him, and even better, it was still steaming.

He tucked in, ignoring the utensils provided in favor of his hands, despite the fact that the main dish was stew. He picked out the chunks of meat first, then the floating vegetables, and when there was nothing but the broth left, he lifted the bowl to his lips and drank. He set it down with a sigh and only then noticed that the dark-haired woman was still paying attention to him, equal parts amusement and something unfamiliar on her face.

"Better?" She laughed. "I'm Isabella, by the way. What do they call you, sweet thing?"

"Ghost."

Isabella raised an eyebrow. "Always been that pale, eh?" She shook her head. "Don't worry about it. How old are you, before I say anything else?"

He shrugged, not being recalcitrant. He really didn't know.

"Hmm... can you give me a guess?"

"Twenty?" he hazarded.

She considered him. "I suppose... maybe. You're so little, but you could be a small twenty. Or on the other hand, an old sixteen."

Ghost wasn't sure how one sixteen could be old and another not, but he didn't ask. "Why do you want to know?"

"Don't sound so suspicious!" She tilted back her stool, her head and her drink all at once. "Ah. Look like you could use a drink is all, provided you are that old."

_Men, templars, laughing. A bitter taste, and a blurry fall._ "No," he said, too sharply. "Um, thank you."

She shrugged, looking mildly interested, but not about to push it. "Oh, fine. Think I've had enough anyway. If I don't plan on losing tonight." She jerked her head towards a table of cardplayers in clarification. "And I don't. Got a place to sleep?"

"Yes," he lied, more suspicious than ever.

"Stay warm then." Ghost watched as she hopped off the bar stool and headed towards the card table before turning back around to his now empty bowl. He ran his finger along the bottom again, and licked it regretfully. He glanced over his shoulder in Isabella's direction, to find her talking urgently to a human man beside her, who was looking straight at Ghost.

He practically fled the tavern after that.

Ghost was no streetwise traveller, but he'd been on the road long enough to know that there were dangers he didn't really know about, and his all-purpose defense was usually to avoid being noticed any more than he had to. Once outside, he made sure he was alone, then took a deep breath and pulled the shadows around himself. Still just as risky, but he was spooked enough to try it.

With the streets somewhat emptier, it was easier to find his way below, to the dark. Easier still, because that was where the magic breathed. Certainly, there was some in the tower where the templars stayed and their mages were held, but most of it came from below, eerily familiar to the magic he'd known all his life. It had the smell of blood and demons. It had the feel of home.

The area that the locals called Darktown was still awake, as he expected. In places like this, it was always better to be aware at night and find what sleep that you could in the day, even when the day didn't bring much light. But he continued deeper, paying little heed to the few mage sparks lingering towards the northern end. There was a pulse below this city and Ghost knew that if he found it, he would be safe. At the least, for a very little while. Long enough to catch his breath.

**A/N: First chapter is in the OC's perspective because there were a few things I wanted to establish right off the bat, and I don't plan to be returning to his perspective for a while. Hopefully a lot of questions raised here. Please, please, please tell me what you think!**


	2. Chapter 2

Hawke was starting to miss the old days. Getting straight-up paid to kill, or just to stand and look ferocious. Usually somewhere near to a drink. Always somewhere near to other people. None of this mucking about in sewers crap. _Below_ sewers even. And no promise of getting paid an agreed upon amount either, only, 'Hey, seems like there's something interesting going on down here, maybe we can find a little gold, maybe not.' Well, if not, he knew of at least one apostate who the templars would no longer have to concern themselves with.

"You sure about this job, Blondie?"

"From what the refugees were saying, something... concerted is going on down here. I can't imagine a group of blood mages or whoever with a set-up elaborate enough to take advantage of Kirkwall's... ambience, but not a lot of gold to be throwing around."

"Good point." Varric scratched what sounded like his chin stubble. "Well, the sooner we get down there, the sooner we can count our rewards, the sooner we can go underground with the darkspawn and find more rewards. Am I right, Hawke?"

_Five thousand to go. Five thousand to go._ "Don't suppose you'd be willing to hand me a discount on that partnership, would you? We could all go home right now and have a good night's sleep before we head off."

"Three refugees have _died_, Hawke!"

"Joking, Aveline." He rolled his eyes, confident that in the near darkness, and walking behind him, the guardswoman couldn't see his expression of disdain. It wasn't as though Varric hadn't already been clear in his denial of that discount before.

They proceeded in silence until Hawke almost stumbled on the pile of rags that one of Anders' refugees had told them he'd dropped near the site. Only he hadn't mentioned they were sopping with blood. Or laid out on the floor in such an oddly deliberate manner.

"Is that... an arrow? Is that bloody rags on the floor, shaped like an arrow?" asked Merrill.

"Forget that." Isabela added, "Why is it pointing at us?"

"It's pointing back the way we came," Hawke reasoned. "Warning us away, perhaps. A message from the maleficarum to whoever might come this way."

"Maleficarum don't warn," said Fenris. "They'd leave something lethal. A magical trap, or a rune. They'd have any number of tricks to choose from."

"In this one case," Anders said, "I'd have to agree. This doesn't seem to have any magic on it at all, whatever it is."

"We can figure it out later. Lets be ready for trouble." No one responded to his command with words, but metal slid against metal, and staffs were shifted into fighting position. The group moved forward again in tense silence.

Before long, they encountered the magical wards that Fenris and Anders had been talking about. Shades, easily dealt with. They became more numerous as the group approached a large door in the stone, carved with twisted symbols. Hawke noticed that Fenris in particular seemed to grow more agitated at the sight of them, but he didn't ask. He doubted he would get any useful information and he wasn't really in the mood for another emotional diatribe about mages in Tevinter and the dark, powerful, very old things they were wont to do. He did hope they wouldn't keep the door locked, however.

And as it turned out, he seemed to be in luck. The door swung open of its own accord on their approach. Even better, the gaping corpse that lay beyond it was wearing the robes of a mage.

"Don't tell me somebody got here first," said Isabela.

"How in Thedas would that be a bad thing?" asked Aveline.

"Because they'll have taken the treasure!"

"More likely they had an internal disagreement," Varric pointed out.

"Or maybe they just needed blood for a spell and innocents weren't handy."

Hawke wasn't sure how Anders managed not to reply to that one, but the mage was certainly glaring at Fenris fiercely enough for two, so he didn't bother either.

"Too bad we don't know how many were down here to begin with," he said instead, stepped carefully forward and peered into the chamber beyond. And then hastily stepped back and raised his staff as an elven woman in robes came hurtling forward.

"No! No, please!" the newcomer begged. "I never wanted to come, I swear, I told them we shouldn't, I told them to stay in the tower, and now _it's killing us_! Oh, you've got to help me, I'll come back with you, I'll do anything the templars say. Just- aghk!"

Nobody saw where the bolt in her neck had appeared from. Her eyes turned glassy, and then she pitched forwards onto the floor beside the body of her comrade, shuddered once and was still.

"Well, that sounded like trouble if I've ever heard it," Hawke said grimly.

"There's more," Fenris muttered. "I wasn't sure at first, but I think we've been followed since the arrow."

"Just what we need." Hawke kept his voice low as well, and tried to be inconspicuous as he glanced back the way they'd come. "Are you sure now?"

"Yes. I caught a glimpse of him a few corners back. I think he was human. And he was dressed like one of the refugees. He didn't look aggressive."

"Which doesn't mean a damn thing about his actual intentions," Hawke finished. "Good work." Their tail, he decided, was not their biggest problem, if it did turn out to be a problem at all. The thing that was killing the blood mages was probably their biggest problem, and then after that the blood mages themselves. If the tail didn't change its behavior any time soon, then it could wait. "Lets go find this monster and see if it left us any mages."


	3. Chapter 3

Ruben had never expected much out of life. As a mage, born in Kirkwall, his prospects could barely be called a life. But he'd kept his head down. Gone to the circle, completed his lessons and listened to the Chantry brothers and sisters as they drilled into his and the other children's heads how tainted, how corrupt and how _low_ they were. Obeyed the templars' orders, even when... even when what they ordered was filthier than anyone's magic could ever be.

But every man had a breaking point. And when power and freedom were always so close, pounding as close as your own damn veins... it was no wonder so many would cease to resist.

Still, he'd been raised to the Chantry's rote. And with all that had happened since he and the others had found their way out of the Gallows, he was wondering if maybe the Chantry did know a little something. If maybe they didn't have the Maker dead to rights. And this was Ruben, and the other blood mages, being punished. This was him getting what the templars had always known he deserved.

Well, maybe it was and maybe it wasn't. But damn if he wasn't going down without a fight. Not this time. Not ever again. If the Maker Himself showed up to condemn him to the void, damn if Ruben wouldn't get at least one fireball off on Him first. Whatever this thing was, hunting his friends from the shadows, well, it could expect at least two.

In fact, the only reason that he didn't attack on sight when the motley collection of humans, elves and a dwarf came into the chamber was that he did want to save his remaining energy for the thing that had killed his friends. Which isn't to say that he didn't keep his staff in a defensive position anyway, and if looks could kill... well, if looks could kill, templars would hardly be a problem and Ruben would never have gotten himself into this situation in the first place.

"Templar lackeys by habit?" he asked contemptuously. "Or hired on particularly for the occasion?"

Over by the door, Anders bristled. "We are no templars, blood mage! We don't need to oppose magic to oppose those who use it for evil."

The red-headed mage on the other side of the room merely shrugged, looking tired. "Call it what you like. Evil is a flexible word."

"Typical." Fenris grunted. "Mages will always find a way to excuse their actions."

"I've done nothing that needs excusing."

"We're not having this discussion." Again. Hawke rubbed his forehead. "The only thing I need out of your mouth before I run you through is anything you can tell me about the other thing down here that's been killing your buddies."

"The beast or the boy?"

"What?"

"There's two things been killing us off," Ruben said flatly. "One's a boy. Showed up here a little after we did. Barely caught a glimpse of him in all the weeks we've been down here, but I'm almost certain it's been him setting all those traps. Don't know how he gets in to set them, don't know how he hides them so well. We stopped seeing him around the time the beast showed up. Never got a good look at that, but it's big, and I hope at least it ate the boy."

"You're surprisingly helpful," Isabela said suspiciously.

Ruben only shrugged. "Either I get out of here alive, and it's in my favor for the beast to be dead, or... I don't, and you might inadvertantly avenge my friends' deaths. No skin off my back."

"Fine by me." Hawke shifted his staff. "But in case you were wondering, it's going to be the second one."

The mage was quick though, Hawke had to give him that. He got the first fireball off before Hawke and his companions could even move forward. It blew Isabela and Merrill back, in fact, and Hawke suspected Varric only kept his footing because he was still half around the corner, only peering around to aim.

Regardless, the bout was finished soon. The blood mage was exhausted, had probably been drawing on his own blood to power all of his spells for a while. Hawke stepped back to allow Fenris to finish him off, which the elf did... perfunctorily. In other words, he didn't seem to enjoy it as much as Hawke had half-expected, even though this was the first blood mage they'd had occasion to kill since the elf had first signed on with their group. Something to mull over later.

"That covers the blood mages, at least." Aveline sighed as Isabela hurried forward to pick over the corpse, followed by the rest of the room. "But I don't like the sound of this monster either. Or these traps for that matter."

"Well, I think I know the easier one to deal with." He looked to Fenris for confirmation that the boy had crossed the threshold into the large chamber at some point during the fight, then quickly strode across and closed the heavy door with a clank and a thud. "Alright." He raised his voice. "Come out. Now. If you don't attack us, you've nothing to fear."

There was a moment of silence as most members of the party not in the loop looked about in confusion. But just as Merrill was opening her mouth to ask, a scrawny form appeared from behind a pillar and out of the shadows and even Hawke, who'd been expecting it, had to stop himself from jumping in surprise.

But Isabela's reaction was by far the most interesting.

"Ghost!" she practically squealed, sounding almost... delighted?

"Really?" Merrill asked doubtfully. "He looks alive to me."

"No, Kitten. That's his name. I met him at the Hanged Man. Oh, you haven't been back in weeks! I was sure you'd left Kirkwall."

Hawke was glad that Merrill thought so, because the boy barely looked solid, never mind alive, to him. Chalky white, hunched and thinner than a twig, he looked less like a human and more like some kind of mushroom-person that grew underground, in the dark. And as seemed to be par for the course with near about everyone they met, he also looked very surly.

"Wanted to make sure you didn't set off any traps," he muttered, staring at his toes. Isabela laughed, but before she could start flirting - and this time, Hawke couldn't even begin to fathom the attraction - Hawke broke in.

"So it was you setting those traps for the mages."

Some color found its way to Ghost's face, and he stared at his toes with greater intensity. He muttered something, almost too low to be heard at all. But it sounded like, _they were in my spot._

Bloody fantastic. "Right. Anything you can tell us about that beast down here then?" _Freak_.

Ghost coughed and spoke up. "I don't think you have to worry about that."

"Oh?"

"It, um... it fell on some spikes."

"Did it." Hawke couldn't help but narrow his eyes. He wasn't getting the whole story here, and that was painfully obvious. He glanced at Fenris, but the elf shrugged, apparently having nothing else helpful to offer. "In that case, any chance you could tell us where the mages kept their valuables?"

Ghost pointed wordlessly to a small door in the back of the chamber, blending nearly to the point of invisibility with the wall. Hawke nodded to Isabela and Varric to go check it out, but Isabela was already halfway there. The rest of them stood and watched Ghost with various degrees of suspicion, but the boy did nothing but stand meekly and refuse to raise his head.

Varric returned with a wide grin. "Hey, good news, Hawke. I think you just earned enough gold to give me all your gold."

"Great. If I give it to you now, will you haul it back up to the surface all on your own?"

"Oh, no, no. I won't accept payment until you've got the whole lot. And we're much closer to the surface."

"Thought you dwarves loved gold in deep places."

"Oh, we do. Which is why I'm making such a personal sacrifice by waiting. Because I care about you, Hawke."

Hawke snorted and turned back to head the way they'd come. His eye fell on Isabela and Ghost whispering together, both of whom looked up at him as at did.

At Isabela's prodding, the boy spoke up once again, clearly reluctant. "I know a shorter way up. If you want."

"Does this shorter way end in a shorter drop and a pit full of spikes?"

"Hawke!"

"Fine. But he goes first, and if I see anything funny-"

"I'd have it no other way."

He nodded. "Alright then. Let's get moving."

**A/N: I wasn't sure I was going to stick with my twice-a-week updating plan, but then I saw I had three followers already! You guys rock. So here's the next chapter, right on schedule.**

**Also, I've decided that the first person to correctly guess Ghost's origin before it is revealed will win. I'm not sure what you'll win, if anything, but you will definitely win.**


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